“Ahem.
The bell will ring at ten o’clock, filling the arena with the sound of five thousand.” The page, clad in Academy colors, appeared with the excited face of a page in the competitor’s lounge, but Elena regarded him as if he were a beast.
Kael at her side remained quietly bowed in servitude, and was obviously unremarkable in his position as a servant, but Elena could sense the pressure that had been compressed to a diamond, radiating out from him with a B-rank aura.
“Lady Vance?
You are scheduled for the skill demonstration.
Please move to the center floor.” Elena did not move.
Elena glanced again at the numbers displayed upon the status board, showing 174 Days, Asset #1 Suppression: Stable, Shadow Sense Level 3, and Skill Demonstration scheduled as the next event.
Elena stepped into the light.
The first thing to greet her was the sound.
A roaring wind mingled with whispers, laughter, and the swish of garments, followed by the glare of five thousand pairs of eyes that Elena could feel as a tangible weight, measuring her, finding her wanting.
Overlooking the arena floor was the Headmaster, a gaunt, thin man with a beard that reached below his navel.
Severin Locke, with silver, dull eyes, regarded Elena with the expression of a scientist who had taken his experiment to the breaking point.
“Lady Elena Vance,” Headmaster Locke proclaimed, his voice laced with magic so that all 5,000 spectators could hear, “the daughter of Duke Aldric Vance, and the one who possesses the Golden Touch, you are asked to show us your magical ability before the board of judges.” Elena stood, rooted in the center of the sandy arena.
Sunlight, brilliant and golden, streamed from the dome of the arena, baking her beneath the glass.
Elena swept her gaze to the Headmaster, then to the crowd.
Her father, dressed like any other esteemed official, watched from the seat of honor, but his face held nothing but disdain.
Beside him was Celestine, surrounded by all the young things that worshipped at her feet, smiling up into the heavens.
And then Elena noticed Kael at the entrance to the competitor’s lounge, not only unnoticed by all those in the arena, but he was also discreetly resting his hand upon the hilt of a nearly invisible sword, hidden by his armor.
“Proceed.” The Headmaster nodded.
A butler scurried to the center with a velvet cushion that held nothing but a single, common, smooth, grey rock.
A pointed, passive-aggressive message: *We do not consider you worthy of anything particularly special.* Elena seized the rock in her grip.
It was cool, and unexpectedly heavy.
Then Elena closed her eyes and triggered the Golden Touch.
The light emanating from her hands was not the kind of innocent golden shimmer associated with her “trash skill.” Instead, it pulsed with the white-hot, intense heat of a forge in full swing.
The rock was transformed, if only for a moment, into something else entirely.
For the briefest fraction of a second, the piece of mundane rock was not just changed, but turned into a pocket of captured starlight, a nugget of solid sunlight.
The crowd sucked in a collective breath.
Then Elena let her hands go, the light died down, and the rock reverted to its dull, grey state, maybe slightly warmer now but otherwise the same.
The change was too brief; barely a second’s time passed.
The silence that followed seemed to stretch for ages.
Then someone emitted a giggle, a boy in the third row, then another.
The laughter spread through the stands, and murmurs spread through the audience.
“Well,” Headmaster Locke drawled, his voice as dry as the dust of the desert, “that was indeed…
illuminating.
Thank you, Lady Vance.
Please take your seat.” Illuminating.
The pointed double meaning combined with his condescending remark was not lost on Elena.
Elena returned the rock to the butler with perfectly formed, mockery-laden reverence, and walked towards a wooden bench set aside from all the others.
“Non-combat participants” was marked upon the backrest by the cord that divided them from the rest.
It meant that Elena was not welcome amongst the real mages, either; Elena sat, Kael still in the background, completely motionless.
A dueling tournament commenced.
Elena’s experience lived up to her expectations, which was to say, not much.
Noble scions wielded their magically enchanted blades like children with sticks, hurling their fizzled fireballs with nary a success against the barrier at the edge of the arena—cheered on by their eager crowds as their professors took notes with meticulous care.
It was the kind of show one would see at the circus, not a serious tournament.
Then came the entrance of Lord Cassius Ashford.
Lord Cassius Ashford was her father’s favorite candidate for her to marry.
He was a strapping, handsome young man with the look of an evil angel, and an expensive sword.
He was clad in ornate steel armor, with the heraldry of the Ashford family embedded within it.
As he walked up and across the sand, a mighty ovation rippled through the crowd, which he happily acknowledged.
“For my demonstration of skills,” Cassius announced haughtily, “I want to demonstrate the practical use of combat magic in front of the court.” He turned toward the entrance to the servants’ passage and called out, “Bring out the training dummy!” Two attendants shoved a slender young boy onto the sand.
His young age, barely a teenager, perhaps, was betrayed by the ill-fitting peasant rags that he wore; his body was already marked with bruises, and he clutched the hilt of a simple practice wooden sword with shaking hands.
“Don’t worry,” Cassius said, smiling as his exquisitely made magical weapon slid effortlessly from its scabbard, emitting a hum of resonant energy, “I won’t kill you.
Hopefully.” Laughter.
The young boy managed to flip up his wooden sword to parry the onslaught of Cassius, but the B-rank magician deflected the blow with nothing short of contempt and drove his knee into the boy’s stomach with a dull smack.
The boy buckled and gurgled.
Cassius stepped back, poised himself again, and sliced his blade across the boy’s exposed shoulder, carving a shallow wound that spattered the clear white sand with crimson droplets.
“You see,” Cassius said to the assembled crowd, “no form, no defense.
This is the fragility of untrained flesh against true magic.” With another stroke, a rib snapped, and he repeated his action with sickening impact, until the boy doubled over, bleeding from his mouth and too weak to continue defending himself.
The crowd roared for the B-ranker, cheering for their champion, as blood seeped into the gleaming white sand.
Elena felt the coarseness of the wooden bench beneath her, and Kael’s steady, deadly energy loomed behind her, contained.
Elena knew how the numbers added up: If she intervened, they’d see her true ace early, and she would never catch them off guard.
She would become their immediate target.
If she did not intervene…
well, she would continue to be the villain.
The memory of a hospital bed and screens showing this kind of cruelty would churn within her with endless agony if Elena, who had lived and died at fifteen, did not act.
Cassius raised his blade for the final, killing stroke as the young boy knelt before him, a bloody mess in front of his attacker.
“Kael,” Elena said, her voice quiet and calm, “stop him.” (Skill Demonstration Delivered.
Duel Exhibition Launched.
Morality Triggered.
Command Issued.)